A Little Heavier
by Kegster
Summary: "I don't expect you to be my Princeps, I expect you to be my partner!" A short ficlet about how June and Anden came to a mutual agreement about the fate of their relationship. Missing moment from Champion's epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

Outside the floor to ceiling length windows, the sky had long turned dark. The lights of the city glowed through the grand windows but the muffled symphony of the streets was barely noticeable in the peaceful apartment. June Iparis sat comfortably with her feet up on the soft, gray, couch, her back supported by the plethora of throw pillows as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. It had been a hell of a mission and June was thoroughly pleased to be back home. She'd stripped off her heavy boots and thick black clothing and practically dove into a hot shower. June was used to being tightly strung, but at the end of a long day, the simple bliss of hot water running over her sore muscles would always help her to relax. That and the long-stemmed glass of wine she swilled around in her hand while casually flipping through some paper work. Since she had been named the lead commander of all California units her documentation load had tripled and she had found it was best to squeeze some extra work in whenever she could.

"Hey," Anden said softly from behind her before bending down to place a kiss on the top of her head. A smile spread across her face; she rose from the couch and excitedly wove her arms around his neck. She had heard him moving about the moment he stepped off the elevator into their penthouse apartment, bidding the guards a good evening; but she liked to let him think he'd surprised her every now and then.

"Hey," she replied before planting a firm, longing, kiss on his mouth. Her job had taken her far from LA for the past several days and while she loved the freedom of being able to focus single-mindedly on her job, one thing she was sure she was good at it, she also enjoyed knowing that she would come home to Anden, who had missed her every moment that she'd been away. Their life together had become a well-rehearsed dance. A practiced and effortless routine of making time for each other in their busy schedules, of cooking meals side by side, of knowing that she preferred coffee over tea in the mornings, of remembering to water the plant on their windowsill that Anden loved, of having mapped each other's bodies so completely that there was not a freckle or scar or delicate hollow that the other hadn't noticed.

"I'm so glad you're back," Anden said contently, resting his forehead against June's before leaning in one more time for a quick peck.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, already heading for the kitchen.

"That depends, are we eating real food or dessert?" She responded.

"My dear lady, do you even have to ask?" He called out, his face hidden behind the freezer door.

"In that case, do _you_ even have to ask?" She retorted playfully.

"Touché," he laughed, never having known her to turn down a dessert.

Moments later he returned to the living area, a small, glass bowl of lavender ice cream in each hand. June took one, skimming the spoon across the top of the frozen dessert. She watched Anden sink onto the couch next to her, his coat discarded, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, thick curls sticking out every which way.

"So how was the mission?" He asked eating a spoonful of ice cream.

"Long, but not particularly exciting," she responded nonchalantly.

"Really? I heard it ended in a shoot out on the corner of Eighth and Cherry," Anden said, one dark brow arched.

"It only lasted three minutes and approximately twenty one seconds; I didn't even take any kind of hit, that doesn't rank particularly high on my excitement scale. My life is very exciting you know," she teased, nudging his thigh with her bare foot.

"Yes, I know you're never satisfied unless you've sustained some sort of bodily injury," he replied unamused, he had been tasked with retrieving her from the hospital with swelling bruises, gaping lacerations, and glancing bullet wounds too many times to find her nonchalance funny. But June had to smile at that. Anden's concern for her flippant disregard of her own personal safety reminded her of her brother.

"How did the meeting go tonight?" June asked, changing the subject before he worked himself up into anymore worry.

"Well there was arguing, flatteries, passive aggressive comments, good food, so pretty much the same as usual. Don't you miss it?"

"Not even a little bit," she laughed around the spoonful in her mouth.

"No, it was good," he recanted, chuckling a little before adding, more soberly, "I think we're really making progress with the United Cities."

"I'm glad…," she said smiling at the young man she's become so proud of. He's kept his promise to her all these years, he hasn't let the stress, or the decisions, or the loss turn him into someone he's not. She watches him for a moment, so at peace with her, sprawling on their couch, eating dessert with zeal, rather than the refinement he displays at banquets. These are the moments when she is infinitely glad she did not become the young Elector's Princeps. She got to see the side of Anden that existed to so few; in which he was not always serious, diplomatic, and sophisticated. When they were working together as Elector and Princeps Elect everything felt strained, formal, observed. Had she become his Princeps, she can't help but feel it would have been hard to separate their working relationship from their personal one. Now they can simply be, here in their own world, with no one looking in.

"You know you didn't have to wait up for me, I know it's been a long couple of weeks for you," he said gesturing with his spoon.

"Yes, but I didn't want you to come home from your long day and have your ears immediately assaulted by the sound of my snoring," she replied, setting her empty bowl down on the small end table.

"It doesn't bother me."

"You don't have to spare my feelings. I commend you for being able to share a bed with me all these years without compl—"

"It really doesn't. I like it. Nocturnal respiration being the weakness of the Republic's prodigy… it's—it's endearing."

He stared down, seemingly trying to decide something, running his spoon along the edges of his bowl, even though it was now empty.

"June, I've been…" He paused, as if he couldn't find the right words. Which surprised June as Anden rarely got tongue-tied, having been graced with all the gifts of eloquence a politician could hope for.

"What?" She prompted, wondering what this was about and, as usual, having little patience for obfuscation.

"…I was thinking maybe we could talk about marriage again…"

June froze; she'd been dreading the day this came up again. She supposed it was too much to hope that he would just let it lie forever and they could pretend like he never asked in the first place. She took a deep breath.

"Anden, I don't kn—"

"I know you said you weren't ready when we talked about it before but it's been almost a year since then. I love you, June. I want to marry you," his face is so earnest, so hopeful that this time the conversation will be different. It breaks her heart.

"I'm sorry, I love you. I do. But I'm just not—"

"Not what?"

"Ready," she breathed.

"You're not ready," he echoed back, as if he hadn't understood her.

"I just don't think it's time, okay?" June held his gaze for a moment hoping this answer would pacify him. He looked back at her, his brows knitted but not saying anything. She took the empty bowl out of his hands and picked her own up off the end table. She moved to the kitchen, placing their dirty dishes in the sink. She wanted to remove herself from this situation. She couldn't deal with the question of marriage right now. It was a question that would never have easy answers and it felt out of place in their carefully balanced life.

Anden seemed to sit in a stupor for a minute before answering, "When would the right time be, June? We've been together for four ye—"

"I don't want to do this right now, Anden!" June snapped more angrily than she meant to. She couldn't quite explain her vehement opposition to marrying her longtime boyfriend. She skirted around the issue, even in the safety of her own mind, knowing it would unearth too many things she'd worked too hard to bury.

"Why can't we talk about this? Every time I bring it up you shut down!"

Anden was off the couch now, moving towards her. She could sense his temper rising.

"Why can't you just accept my answer?"

"Because it's not a real answer, June! Why don't you want to discuss this?"

June ran a hand through her dark hair, taking a deep breath, trying to decide how to twist the knife in the heart of yet another person she loved.

"Anden, I like where we are. I like what we have. I just don't understand why you need more!"

Her words are hurting him she can tell by the way he swallows hard before speaking.

"It's not more, it's just..." he was struggling to find words again," I want to know where things are going, okay?" He implored her.

"I don't know, I don't know what's going to happen months from now or years from now. You have to take things as they come because I've learned too many times that everything can change in an inst-

"June," his rising voice startles her, "what happens months from now or years from now isn't going to change how I feel about you. I can take anything life has coming, as long as you're right there with me."

The way his eyes held hers was magnetic. Before she could make the conscious choice to do so she'd walked into his arms, resting her forehead against his chest. She breathed in that familiar scent of his, let him stroke her hair and run his hand up and down her spine soothingly.

"What's scaring you, June?" he whispered in her ear.

The words gave her a jolt. She was June Iparis, she'd survived escape from both the Republic and the Colonies, she'd survived a war, the plague, a crash landing, she'd been shot, and stabbed, and beaten; she wasn't scared of anything.

She tried to picture it. What it would be like to be Anden's wife. At formal events she would no longer be announced on her own as "Commander June Iparis." She would be announced in conjunction with Anden, "Commander June Stavropoulos."

No, she couldn't do that; she couldn't take his name in exchange for what had been her parent's name, Metias' name. She was an Iparis… the last Iparis… she would remain so until she died. But Anden would understand that, he took her as she was. He loved even the most insufferably stubborn parts of her. June knew that to pretend this was the problem was to be grasping at straws. He wouldn't care that she didn't want his name, if only she wanted to be his wife. He wanted to be the person she would go through this life with, who he could count on to stand by him… she wasn't sure how she felt about someone counting on her that way. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with Anden? She couldn't be sure. Her experiences thus far had shown June what a fluid concept "rest of her life" could be. If the "rest of her life" was ten years, okay. But what if the "rest of her life" was thirty years? Forty years? Suddenly it didn't seem so easy.

She wished it were enough that she loved Anden here, now.

"June," he continued to murmur in her ear, "what we have makes me so happy, but I want to make that commitment to you. I want to introduce you to people as my wife not my girlfriend, I want to be a part of a family again, I want our kids to know that I couldn't wait to marry their mother."

He was elated by this imaginary future, but a shiver ran through June. Yet another thing she'd avoided discussing, even when it was absolutely imperative. The resurfacing of harbored guilt made her feel like she needed to vomit but instead she just pulled out of Anden's arms.

This wasn't at all how she'd thought the night would go. She thought she'd exchange stories with her boyfriend and get a good night's sleep cradled in his arms. June had planned to wake up and expend little effort convincing Anden to reschedule his early meetings. She thought they'd spend the morning in sweat-drenched sheets, skin flushed, lips full, and hearts racing.

But instead she was taking a deep breath and saying, "I'm sorry, but I can't promise you forever, Anden. Too much has happened," she finished sadly, uttering as much of the truth as she was able to verbalize.

She made a break for the bedroom; not wanting to see the way his expression would fall, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands. She hoped Anden would follow her. He didn't; rather, he stopped her in her tracks.

"Is this about the baby?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Is this about the baby?"

June whirled around, a hard look on her face, "No, no, no, Anden…"

"I'm sorry that happened to you…," he pressed on, encroaching on her space, trying to help, not realizing how much worse he was making it.

"It's not about that, it's not."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Just stop!"

"These things happen June."

Their words overlapped. Their voices rose and fell in a dissident cacophony. Anden desperately trying to offer comfort, June desperately trying to deflect the blows he was unwittingly dealing her. The force of what she had kept hidden swelled around her. It filled the room, pressing in on her body. She wanted to beg Anden not to push her to the breaking point but she could feel that it was already too late. There was only way to relieve the pressure of his smothering care and her own suffocating shame.

"I don't want children Anden, I didn't then and I don't now," she yells, her voice rising over his. There it is, one of the many dark things she kept carefully compartmentalized in a corner of her heart, hanging in the air between them: as dark and tangible as the clouds of ash that had once filled the Republic's atmosphere. It startles them both. June claps a hand over her mouth trying to stifle the horrified gasps that are coming out of her mouth as she tries to get herself back under control. She has to focus her mind, so she counts the seconds until Anden says something…anything.

"What?"

Seventeen seconds. He sounds devastated.

It had happened almost two years ago. They'd both drank too much while away together. They hadn't been as careful as they usually were. Six weeks later she realized the consequence. June had sat on the bathroom floor, her head resting on her knees, while alternating waves of fear and self-loathing crashed over her. When she told Anden, she expected to see her own apprehension and fear reflected in him. She had not expected his utter joy. All the things she had planned to say, _I'm not ready, I don't know that I want this, I'm scared,_ just died in her throat.

Weeks multiplied. For a long time she'd figured she didn't want children, but when it was actually happening… some days she was filled with longing for the life growing inside her, she wanted to feel like she had a family again just as much as Anden did. She had lost so much. But most days she was overwhelmed by that loss. Her whole life, fate had seemed to come after her at every turn, snatching up the people she loved with cool indifference. Fate took them from what was supposed to be a short drive, snuck up on them in an alley, whisked them away with not even memories left to link her to them. It terrified her to think she might have to experience this again, tenfold. _I'm going to tell him. I'm going to tell him tonight_, she'd think. But she couldn't bring herself tell Anden any of this. She couldn't share her fears because inevitably she'd have to get at the heart of what scared her about this baby. She wasn't sure she loved Anden enough to share this with him, to be able to rely on him to help her shoulder the weight of the things that terrified her. She loved Anden, she liked their life together. But she knew her love for this baby would demand a love for its father that she wasn't sure she was capable of anymore. If she brought a life into this world, accepted that kind of love again, and it was taken away from her… the terror paralyzed her.

Two weeks later, she was rushed to the hospital in the back of a military jeep. Anden's fingers locked around hers. Her abdomen was agonized by cramps and the bleeding was far too heavy to be normal. When the doctor came in and told her she was miscarrying, June wept in a way she hadn't in years. Uncontrollable, heaving sobs wracked her body, Anden somehow managed to sit stoically by her side. He rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades, a pillar of strength. But what he didn't know was that her tears were just as much out of relief as they were out of sorrow. At least this time fate had struck quickly. June knew she would never try again.

Now seeing the hurt on Anden's face, she knew she was right to feel guilty. She'd purposely excluded him from her thoughts, her feelings, her decisions about things that he had a right to know. She had lied to him by omission. But then again shouldn't he feel guilty too? Had he ever once asked her what her feelings on the matter were? Couldn't he tell something was off, that there was more going on than what she was telling him?

"I don't want children," she repeated coldly.

"Since when?" Anden asked dryly. His tone rubbed June the wrong way and she was so filled with bitterness she could practically taste it in her mouth.

"Since I was seventeen. And no, you never asked," June replied caustically.

Anden stared at her and she didn't waver under his gaze. It was like he was deciding what course of action he should take, should he be angry, remorseful, or sympathetic?

"Even when—"

"Yes," June cut him off, already knowing what he was going to ask.

"I don't believe that," he replied.

"Well believe it," she responded touchily.

"No, no you're just saying that because you're angry, it's not the truth!"

"Yes it is!"

"I remember June, I remember that night in the hospital—"

"You don't know—"

"You were crying, you cried," he shot back almost accusingly.

They were yelling again. That anger of his that typically lay dormant rose into activity. It used to scare her, but now that she had grown overly accustomed to Anden's easy tact she welcomed the opportunity to have a good old-fashioned knock down, drag out.

"You want the truth?" She shouted.

"The truth would be nice," he demanded.

She let out a noise of frustration, "The truth is I cried because I was relieved. I was so relieved, because I was so scared! So go ahead hate me," she accused. They were both pacing the apartment like hostile animals. Alternately invading each other's space and retreating into their own.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"Why did I have to tell you, you didn't notice that I was—"

"Don't turn this on me. I thought you were with me on this, you let me believe that!"

"Oh please, you _assumed_ I was with you—"

"Well, excuse me for—"

"I can't be 'with you' on everything Anden," she retorted making finger quotes; June knew she was going too far but she couldn't stop, "I'm not you're fucking Princeps!"

"I don't expect you to be my damn Princeps, I expect you to be my partner," Anden finished gravely. His voice suddenly low and carrying so much more weight than all of their screaming

And there it was… shots had been fired. They paused. Now they were at an impasse. Both angry, both disappointed.

"I don't trust you right now," he finally said with a dispassionate tone that stung worse than his heated yelling.

"What because I don't want to get married?" June practically spat, still worked up from their argument.

Anden fixed his solemn eyes on her, "No, because you don't trust me enough to even talk about it, to give me a chance to understand what's going on in your head."

He pushed past her into the bedroom, reappearing a moment later with a pillow under his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked bitterly.

"I can't sleep with you tonight. Let me know when you're ready to stop being so damn selfish," he growled, not even bothering to look back at her.

"Selfish?" She repeated, shaking her head, "you're an asshole," she said simply.

June retreated into the bedroom closing the door firmly behind her. She didn't make it much further. She leaned against the door and let herself slide down until she was huddling on the ground. Hot, silent, tears tracked down her face.

Her brother had taught her that when emotion failed logic would save you. It had been her own mantra for years. But now, with emotion failing her, she wasn't sure of the logical choice. She tries to see the situation clearly, with a rational eye. Her eyes roam the bedroom and she tries to see their relationship the way Anden must.

They'd painted this room. When she'd first moved in Anden thought a change of pace would make her feel more at home. They'd picked out the color together. The building's maintenance crew had offered to do the labor but they'd wanted to do it themselves. Pictures of the two of them sat on top of the bureaus. Monogrammed towels hung in their bathroom that Mariana had given them for Christmas.

She could tell now that she was the illogical one. For all intents and purposes she'd been building a life with Anden and she hadn't bothered to clue him in on the fact that she had given him just about everything that she'd ever be willing to, that she was limited. Of course he'd thought marriage was where they'd eventually end up, and he'd waited pretty patiently while she'd disregarded his misconceptions. She noticed with a groan that even the pajamas she was wearing, a luxurious silk and lace ensemble, had been given to her by Anden himself. She stood and furiously undressed. She went to the bureau and dug to the back of one of her drawers, pulling out a carefully folded piece of cotton fabric and pulled it on hastily. It was one of Metias' old t-shirts, which she used to like to sleep in. Of course back then it had fallen to her knees, it had been a long time since actually worn it, she'd hung onto it only for sentimental value. She pulled out a pair of simpler cotton shorts and put those on as well, it seemed silly but even this small act made her breathe a small sigh of relief.

She was about to get into bed when she stepped on something small and hard; she lifted her foot. Lying on the floor was the necklace with the thin silver chain and sparkling red stone that Day had given her. She picked it up gingerly. She'd just about forgotten that she had carefully wrapped it in Metias' shirt when she'd moved here almost three years ago. Of course it would turn up again now, fate loved playing tricks with her. She clutched it in her fingers and she could feel a new wave of tears forming behind her eyes. The rush of emotion surprised June.

It wasn't as if she'd spent the past nine years, since Day had left, completely miserable. She didn't exist as a shadow of who she was. She had not been left an empty shell, mindlessly going through the motions of her life. She had been sad, it had hurt, and that hurt had sat heavily in her chest. The pain seemed to expand everyday, threatening to suffocate her, slowly, painfully, pinching off her airways. But she had realized pretty quickly that her hurt was not going to get any lighter. The pain of Metias' death had not subsided and she knew the pain of Day's departure wouldn't either. So she was faced with two choices. She could give up, lie down, and let the weight crush her. Or she could accept that from that point on, she would just be a little heavier. For the first couple of years, everything seemed to remind her of Day and it was like one punch in the gut after another. She'd look at a paper clip and wince or see a little boy on the street with blonde hair and a mischievous grin, and she'd find it difficult to swallow the lump in her throat. But then it got easier. She got up, put one foot in front of the other, took it all one day at a time just like Day had told her, and learned to carry the weight.

From that moment on she'd breathed a little easier. She'd been living her life contently. She'd appreciated the little things: dinner with Tess, running the track with Pascao, a weekend away with Anden. It sounded insignificant… but she loved those little pleasures. Now fresh grief overcame her. She knew that if Day had remembered her, if he'd stayed. She wouldn't be having this fight with Anden. She didn't like that knowledge. Her stomach felt queasy and unsettled. She didn't want to believe she was living a second rate version of her life. If she was being honest with herself it was probably the life she would have lead had she never met Day at all. It had only made sense to her that this was the life she would go on to lead when he left her for good. It had felt like a return to her natural path not a misstep. But now she was worried that she had underestimated Day's effect on her. Even their brief time together had altered her in ways that made it impossible for her to revert to this life.

June tried to shut these traitorous thoughts out. She dropped the necklace on the nightstand, and crawled into bed. It felt too big for just her. She wished Ollie were still there at the foot of the bed, warming her feet with his soft, thick, fur. She fell into a fitful sleep. A sleep that left the sheets twisted under and around her uncomfortably. June prided herself on her ability to meticulous compartmentalize her mind. There were things she kept hidden even from herself. But that night there was no hiding her true feelings. For the first time in years she dreamed of Day.


	3. Chapter 3

"June?" A voice called, softly rapping on the door even though from the sound she could tell it was already open.

Her eyes fly open. She must have slept eventually, though she feels as if she spent the majority of the night tossing and turning.

Anden was standing in the doorway, a couple of mugs in his hands, "I brought you coffee." He said this simply, walking over to their bed. June sat up, running a hand through her mussed hair before accepting the mug Anden handed to her. She had not taken the time to think about what this morning would be like, too many other things had clouded her mind the previous night, but even if she had, she would never have guessed that this morning would include hot beverages being brought to her in bed. One sip and she could tell it was prepared exactly how she liked it. Anden, always the gentleman even after a night of shouting their throats hoarse. Perhaps all was forgiven? June isn't sure if that's good or bad. Last night's realizations weighed heavy on her heart but she was so comfortable with Anden. Second-rate version or not, this had become her life and he was an integral part of it. She hadn't quite made up her mind about what she wanted…to make up or give up? Now he sat next to her, drinking his coffee quietly, before clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry I called you selfish," he said not looking up from his mug, "you're right. I never asked you what you wanted. I assumed—"

"Anden," June cut him off. Her words last night had been said in anger. She didn't want Anden to feel at fault for the misery that had only been caused by her own duplicity. She moved closer to him, resting a hand on his wrist, "don't. I kept what I wanted from you."

Anden nodded solemnly, "I thought about it a lot last night and I don't think you're against marrying me because you're selfish. You made that decision for my sake."

June squinted at him, unsure where he was going with this.

"Your feelings for me are not commensurate with my feelings for you," he said speaking with the same grace he did at Senate meetings or national addresses, "so to agree to marry me feels deceitful to you."

"Anden, I…"

June began to speak but soon found herself at a loss. Anden had already said what she had been trying futilely to put together into a cohesive sentence. She loved Anden. But not as wholly as he loved her. So much of herself had been given or worse, taken, away. Deep down she knew Anden deserved more than what she had left to offer. To marry him would be to lie about her feelings. She would be deluding him, betraying him. She cared about him too greatly to subject him to that.

"June," he started slowly, " do you think that if… things had been different… that you would still be here?"

It took June a long time to answer. She knew what he was really asking. She knew she would finally have to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. About if Day had remembered; if he had stayed.

"No," she said already feeling the tears prickling the back of her eyes.

Anden gave a hard nod. She noticed the way he cleared his throat and furiously blinked away the moisture that had begun to well in his own eyes. But her words stung her just as bitterly as they did Anden. She'd built a life, which she only had to say yes to. Bit by bit Anden had filled her emptiness but she couldn't help but feel that in her haste to satiate the hunger within her she had deceived herself just as much as she had Anden.

His eyes spot the necklace still sitting on the bedside table.

"June, I don't want to hear that you still love him. But if that's the truth I need you to tell me anyway… it's okay."

"No it's not…He didn't know me. If he had remembered and then decided that he couldn't get past the things I'd done and decided to leave. It'd be so much easier, because it'd be clean and settled and I would know. But the way things happened…," June can feel herself starting to lose control and she's glad that Anden has a good enough heart to wrap his arms around his girlfriend even as she tells him how heartbroken she is over another man, "it's like a broken bone that didn't heal right and it just aches. Everyday it aches. And you try to ignore it and eventually you get so good at ignoring it that you think it can't hurt you anymore… and that's when the pain hits you like a freight train."

"When I bring up marriage, that's like a freight train isn't it?" Anden asks hesitantly.

She nods into the crook of his neck, trying not to be embarrassed about the tears running down her cheeks and onto his shirt. They rarely openly displayed hurt in front of each other. They had both lost so much it felt counterproductive to dwell on it. They had tried to hide hurt from each other. After everything they'd been through it felt like a failure to acknowledge that things still had that kind of power over them. Their relationship was all relaxed evenings at home, lazy mornings stolen from their busy work schedules, romantic weekend getaways, passionate arguments…but never this brand of emotional purging.

Anden shook his head,"I wish I could be mad at him, but I suppose it's not his fault."

"Sometimes I'm so jealous of him, that he got to forget and I…," June trailed off. She felt so guilty about the things she'd done to Day. The pain she brought to someone she loved. It had been wiped clean and she chose to keep it that way. But now she had been left with no chance of forgiveness or redemption. Just suffocating self-reproach concealed beneath layers of insubstantial gratification masquerading as genuine fulfillment.

"But I suppose that's not his fault either," she finished lamely.

"Did you ever… what… what was this to you?" Anden implores. He wants to know that it was real. That she didn't just close her eyes and think of Day. That she had wanted him, on some level.

"Anden I love you, but it's not the way you deserve."

"Don't say that," he interjects.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to be sad anymore and you made me so happy."

The words are barely out of her mouth when his crashes into hers. His fingers tighten in her hair as he kisses her. She returns his affectionate touches, allows him to lay her down, her head resting on one of their soft, full, pillows. He wants to remind her, prove to her why they work together. She so wants to lose herself in the familiar heat of his skin on hers. Each firm movement of his mouth against hers reminds her of what a consistent presence Anden has been for her in the four years they'd been together. The two of them had helped to fill the places in each other left empty by loss. Together they'd learned that life always goes on, as long as they were still breathing there was hope that things would be good again. But maybe they'd reached the extent of what they could learn from each other.

Anden pauses, noticing her distraction. He sighs and leans his forehead against hers.

"I need you to be honest with me; what do you want June?" He asks.

"I want to stop making you believe I'll ever be able to give you the things you want," she says solemnly.

Anden winces as if something hurts, then rolls off her, letting his own head fall onto the pillow next to her as if in defeat.

"I don't need those things," he replies staring at the ceiling.

"Not needing something doesn't stop you from wanting it."

"It does when there's something you want even more."

Neither of them responds immediately. Rather they both let Anden's words sink deeply into their flesh and into their blood where it can travel to their hearts. Is this relationship worth it?

"What now?" June whispers.

"Well the way I see it we have two options. I could leave now, go to my meetings, and when I walk back through that door we'll both forget this ever happened," he takes her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles, "We'll go back to our lives, I'll never ask about marriage or children again. It's all in the open now, you don't have to feel like you're lying to me," he pauses, "Or I could take the day off, help you pack your things, and you can move back to that apartment I know you still have."

A chortle escaped her lips hearing that. She'd fancied herself pretty clever hiding the fact that she'd never gotten around to selling her old apartment. She stopped by on it every now and then to make sure nothing was amiss and had the bills for its payments sent to her work office rather than her and Anden's home. She'd never have guessed that Anden was privy to that particular secret.

"Thought I'd missed that didn't you?" He asked good-naturedly despite the seriousness of their conversation. He gets up off the bed, adjusting his clothes. She already misses having his familiar form lying beside her, so she sits up and lets her feet hit the bedroom floor. Anden moves to her side of the bed.

"What do you say June?"

She looks up at his composed face, he's braced himself for whatever she's about to say. She yearns to tell him what he wants to hear but she just can't not with Day's face still burned into her memory.

"I think it's time to say good bye," she says in a measured voice.

He nods and takes a deep breath. He turns away from her for just a moment. When he turns back he extends a hand to her. She takes it somewhat confusedly. But then he shakes her hand and says, "In that case, it's been a pleasure sharing my life with you these past four years."

"Likewise," she says returning the shake with the cordiality and professionalism of mere acquaintances.

They spend the morning folding her things into the boxes Anden sent for in near silence. Occasionally he'll ask where she would like something, but otherwise they both let each other be. Everything to say has been said. One of the first things she'd asked for upon her promotion was her own jeep. And now Anden is down stairs loading it up with the surprisingly few things she's deemed worth moving into her own home. She stands in their bedroom. She wonders if he'll repaint it. He'll probably have the maintenance staff do it. Day's necklace is still on the bedside table, Anden hadn't touched it. She picks it up and puts it around her neck. Then quickly takes it off again and slips it into her pocket, she doesn't need more things weighing her down. She was okay. She picks up her last bag and slings it over her shoulder. As she exits the apartment she leaves her key on the kitchen table.

On the street below Anden is waiting next to the jeep even though it's drizzling lightly. He takes the bag off her shoulder and puts it into the passenger seat. Then they stand on the sidewalk and look at each other. They'd eased each other's pain, sutured the wounds, and showed each other that there was indeed the possibility of healing. She knew it was time for them both to move on but it still hurt to see him, whom she had shared so much with, slipping through her fingers.

"I guess this is good bye then," he says evenly.

"I left your key upstairs," she informs him.

He nods and she moves to get in the car.

"June," his voice stops her, "I know there's a lot of things you feel guilty about. But don't feel guilty about this. I knew your heart was taken… I just wanted you anyway."

She turns back to him and wraps her arms around his neck. He brings his arms up to hold her just as tightly…he knows it's the last time. For a moment she focuses on the feeling of his chest expanding as he breathes, the way she can feel his pulse under her fingertips. She kisses his cheek and he lets his arms fall away from her.

"Thank you," she says and he seems to understand that her vague words encompass everything she'd left unsaid in their time together.

"Take care of yourself," he responds.

He doesn't say anything else as she gets in the car and starts it. She pulls out and in the rearview mirror she watches him raise his hand in a single wave as the rain begins to fall harder. He'd done right by her. She wishes she could be what he needed. Anden, with his kind voice that made you want to listen to it, soft hands, and strong heart, would be another thing that made her heart a little heavier.

She thinks about what she'd been trying to say with her simple thank you.

_Thank you for taking me in. Thank you for loving me at my darkest and showing me that there was a light in me I'd always assumed had been extinguished with Day's memories of me. Thank you for holding my hand when I had to put Ollie down. Thank you for asking if I'd like you to spend the night that first time. Thank you for making your home ours. Thank you for freeing me of blame. Thank you for letting me go._

She rolls down her window and breathes in the clean, moist, air.

"It's okay," she murmurs to herself, "you're okay."

It was true. Day was okay, Anden would be okay, and so would she.


End file.
